


Love You to Death

by magma_krystal



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Choking, Dark Magic sexual antics, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma_krystal/pseuds/magma_krystal
Summary: After Jeritza watches Hubert at work in the interrogation chamber, he expresses a desire to experience such exquisite torture himself.
Relationships: Jeritza von Hrym/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Love You to Death

Scarlet splattered against stone as he struck him again. The man winced at the blow but kept his eyes firmly set on Hubert, his brow twisted with rage.

“ _A stubborn one_ ,” Hubert mused as he returned the stare of the prisoner. “ _But_ ,” he smirked, “ _All men can be broken_.”

He reached to the table next to him, his hand hovering over the selection of tools he always brought for such occasions. The razor-sharp edges of the blades glinted in the candlelight of the interrogation chamber.

Hubert grasped a saw-bladed dagger and brought it to the prisoner’s neck. “Are you certain you will not tell me the location of the Faerghus army?” He pressed the blade into the man’s flesh, just enough so the Kingdom soldier could feel the catch of the serrated edges of the weapon against his throat.

“Damn you,” the man growled. “The Empire will fall to King Dimitri. You and that emperor bitch will rot in hell—he’ll make sure of that.”

“Is that so?” Hubert withdrew the dagger and placed it at his side. He noted how the muscles of the prisoner’s face relaxed as he discarded the weapon, a flicker of hope appearing in his eyes.

That hope was slaughtered as the mage lifted his hand, purple light bleeding through his glove. His lips upturned. “A pity that you will not live to see that.”

Hubert summoned the spell for Death, sending a wave of shadow into the prisoner. The man immediately paled, his body constricting in terror. He clutched at himself as dark magic seeped into his every pore.

The mage concentrated on the man, keeping his own breathing slow and deliberate. Every breath he took would cause the spell to steal more life energy from his victim. He ignored the pleasant aching in his head that grew with each inhale. His magic was a tool to be used in service of Her Majesty’s ambitions, not as a means for his own pleasure. He would not kill this man. Yet.

Just as the face of the prisoner began to dull into a greyish hue, Hubert released him from the spell. The man gulped for air as if each breath was his last.

“T-they travel north,” the soldier gasped, his chest heaving, “to take back Fhirdiad.”

“That information will be useful to Her Majesty,” Hubert nodded. He leaned in, cupping the prisoner’s chin in his glove. “You have my gratitude.” He gripped the back of the man’s head with his other hand and gave it a short, hard twist. The soldier slumped over.

With a snap of his fingers, Hubert warped the body to the morgue—down in the depths below the Imperial Palace, far from the eyes of Her Majesty. He would return to deal with it later, if his aides could not stomach the task.

He carefully peeled off his gloves, the cloth stained dark with blood. He incinerated them in his palm. As Hubert went to wash his hands at the faucet at the entrance of the chamber, he spotted a tall figure looming in the doorway.

“General Jeritza,” Hubert said, irritation tightening his throat. Somehow, he had not detected von Hrym’s entrance. The minister chided himself for his carelessness. He rinsed off his hands in the sink, keeping the figure in the corner of his eye. “Is there something you require?”

Jeritza came closer. “That spell...” he said slowly, “...it intrigues me.” Hubert could feel his eyes drift downward, to the red swirling down the drain that dripped from the mage’s palms. “You brought that man to the gates of death. You let it envelop him in its embrace.” He let out a long sigh. “I long to feel such a bliss.”

 _Such dramatics._ Hubert dried his hands on a cloth and turned to the taller man. “You have sworn Her Majesty your allegiance,” he said, crossing his arms. “I will not permit you to die now.”

“But you did not let him die,” Jeritza breathed. “Not from your magic, at least.” He looked down at Hubert, intensity in his gaze. “Use that spell on me. Let me know death. Let me taste it.”

“Are you asking me to torture you?” Hubert shook his head, smirking at the thought. “No. I have no time to satisfy your sick fantasies.”

He had exited the chamber and started up the stairs when he heard Jeritza’s deep voice call after him.

“The emperor.”

Hubert turned. “Hm?”

“It will aid the emperor.” In the candlelight, Jeritza’s shadow was cast down the long hall. “The creature in me feeds on death. But if he is the one to feel its exquisite touch, his hunger will grow. When the next battle is upon us, he will feast.”

The mage sighed. “Very well.” It would not take long, after all. Besides, perhaps it would be beneficial to have the Death Knight in his debt.

When they returned to the interrogation chamber, Hubert instructed Jeritza to sit. The chair was a bit small for the tall man, but it clearly did not matter to him. His blue eyes peered into Hubert like beads of ice.

“Do not hold back,” Jeritza said, grasping the wooden arms of the chair in anticipation.

“I would not worry.” Hubert’s hands glowed purple, the color of his magic blinding when unrestricted by his gloves. “I am not known to be merciful.”

He cast Death onto Jeritza, the other man taking a sharp breath inward as the cloud of shadow hit him. Hubert felt a buzz run through his mind as he penetrated into Jeritza’s core. Von Hrym’s life force ran deep and dark—stained with the lives of all he had killed. Hubert wondered if his own would have felt the same.

He pulled away Jeritza’s life slowly, shivering as it entered into him. With every breath Hubert took, Jeritza’s body quivered. He made a sound from deep in his chest—if Hubert hadn’t known better, he would have thought that he had moaned.

Hubert pulled deeper and von Hrym’s eyes rolled back in his head. It took all his will not to take it all—to feel the full satisfaction of absorbing him completely. But, just as the pressure in his head had nearly reached its peak, he released Jeritza from the spell.

Immediately, the general begged him to continue. “ _More._ ”

 _Curious_. All others who had fallen victim to the spell nearly lost their minds with fear. Yet, Jeritza seemed to be enjoying it.

Hubert summoned Death again. Jeritza growled as his life was taken from him once more. He shifted in his seat, biting down on his lip until it reddened with blood. Hubert found himself dragging in deeper, pulling him in. His head was dizzy but he did not want to stop.

Jeritza gripped the chair, his legs twitching rhythmically as the spell consumed him. His gasps matched Hubert’s breathing, its rate growing faster and faster.

Suddenly, Hubert came to his senses. _What was he doing?_ If he killed the Death Knight, the Empire would surely be doomed. All of Her Majesty’s work would be in vain, and he would be to blame. Hubert withdrew the spell.

He flinched as Jeritza leapt at him, gripping at his wrists. The stronger man pulled Hubert closer, squeezing the mage’s hands around his throat. “Kill me,” he begged, voice ragged. “ _Kill me._ ”

A wave of _something_ within Hubert compelled him to do as he asked. He closed his grip around Jeritza’s neck. Pressing firmly against his windpipe, he cast a cold wave of magic down into Jeritza’s throat. As he choked, and his color faded, Jeritza’s hips began bucking wildly. _Was he...?_

Hubert released him. The air back in his lungs, Jeritza moaned loudly as his hips shuddered. The minister looked down at the other man in shock as he rode the waves of his climax. 

It was done. As if nothing had happened, Jeritza took himself off the floor and left the room.

Hubert shook his head, making a sound of disapproval. That such a spell would cause Jeritza pleasure of that kind was revolting. Or at least, that is what he told himself, until he noted the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. _What was wrong with him?_

He growled in irritation as he fought the urge to rub at his hardened member. If he were to be found in such a position—pleasuring himself in the middle of his duties—it would bring more shame to the legacy of House Vestra than he could comprehend.

“The war has gone on too long,” he hissed, trying to will away the throbbing in his cock. “I must be going mad.”

* * *

Hubert took his lunch as he always did when he did not have the privilege to sit beside Her Majesty: alone, at a small table in the shadowed corner of the palace dining hall. He rarely ate with anyone but Lady Edelgard—he found meal breaks with the rest of his colleagues to be miserable. The Empire nobles chattered like a flock of little birds, cheep-cheeping about only the most frivolous of information.

He took a sip of coffee and flipped through his pile of reports. The half-empty cup was the only item he had touched of the slowly congealing lunch on his tray.

The minister felt someone lingering in front of his table, but he did not slow the scribbling of his quill. If they were familiar with Hubert’s reputation at all, they would leave him alone with his work.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a box being placed on his table. Hubert grimaced as Jeritza sat across from him.

“Jeritza,” Hubert nodded, avoiding his blue eyes to stare at his papers instead.

“Hubert.” The mage hated himself for the way the sound of his name in Jeritza’s mouth made him shiver.

He focus shifted to the white box as Jeritza pushed it forward. The package was wrapped with ribbon, a single red rose tied to the top with a bow.

“What is this supposed to be?” He eyed the box suspiciously.

“...For you.” Jeritza watched him a moment. When Hubert made no motion to unwrap the gift, the general did it for him. He lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a tart, covered in dark red raspberries. “Yesterday was satisfying. I have waited long to encounter such a release.”

Hubert felt his cheeks flush. He glanced around him, hoping that not a soul had heard what Jeritza had said. His eyes drifted to the man across from him, suddenly becoming aware of the locks of blond hair that hung loose from Jeritza’s ponytail. He had never noticed before how soft it looked. The minister swallowed.

“I will pass,” he said finally. “I am not partial to sweets.”

“Ah...what a shame.” Jeritza plucked a raspberry from the dessert. He brought the berry to his lips to suck off its sweet glaze.

“Is there anything else?” Hubert asked brusquely as he watched the general lap at the ripe fruit with his tongue. “I have much to do for Her Majesty.”

“Come to my room at midnight,” Jeritza said. He reached forward and plunged his finger deep into the custard of the tart. “I desire the touch of death once more.”

Hubert folded his legs as the general brought his custard-covered finger into his mouth. “And what makes you think I would wish to repeat such a thing?”

Jeritza rose. “Midnight,” he said again in his deep drone. He left the box with Hubert, filled with the dessert’s mangled remains. 

* * *

Hubert was at his desk—poring over an inventory of the Empire’s weaponry—when the first chime rang out from the bell tower. He ignored the sound, chewing on his quill in thought.

By the sixth chime, Hubert realized only one weapon was on his mind: the Scythe of Sariel, dark energy pulsing from its razor-sharp blade. He had watched Jeritza wield the weapon in the training hall. Even when freed from the Death Knight’s armored shell, the general had gripped the weapon with the same viciousness.

Hubert bit his lip as he pictured Jeritza’s strong arms, his muscles flexing as he swung the scythe around and around.

By the chime of the twelfth bell, his desk had been abandoned.

Hubert advanced through the hall, thoughts of Jeritza haunting his every step. He thought of how von Hrym had been enraptured with _his_ magic—his body convulsing with a pleasure all under Hubert’s control.

He went down the stairs of the palace, to the damp, dark cellars where Jeritza had requested to live. Hubert felt his face flushing hot despite the growing chill of the air as he descended down below.

Hubert came to Jeritza’s door and knocked on the flimsy wood.

“Come in...” he heard him call from within.

The minister entered. The room had once been used as a storage closet, stains of cleaning potions still visible on the stone floor. The room was empty save for a simple bed and table. In the corner, the armor of the Death Knight was hung, staring at them both with its red glass eyes and metal grimace.

Jeritza sat the edge of the bed, looking at Hubert coolly with his blue gaze. “You’re late.”

Hubert ignored the comment as he locked the door behind him. He pulled his gloves tighter against his fingers. “Let us get this over with,” he muttered as he stepped towards the bed.

He raised his hands and dark magic spilled from his palms. Jeritza shivered and gasped as the spell wrapped around him. The tendrils of magic—purple as a bruise—twisted up his body.

Hubert coaxed a line of magic in between Jeritza’s lips, the beam pulsing as it entered deeper and deeper down his throat. The mage felt the blood rush between his legs as he saw Jeritza’s eyes roll back with pleasure.

Hubert stood over Jeritza as his magic consumed him. He felt an ache of want as he noted the evidence of the general’s arousal, admiring the sizeable bulge in his trousers. Just as von Hrym began to move his hips with the rhythm of the magic entering him, Hubert made the spell vanish.

Jeritza’s eyes opened halfway. “Continue...” he said under his breath. It nearly sounded like a threat.

Hubert smirked. “It isn’t fair for you to take all the pleasure for yourself,” he purred, stroking through Jeritza’s long hair with his gloved fingers. “Is it?”

The minister unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his cock. “Get on with your duty, General,” he said, gripping Jeritza’s ponytail and tugging him towards his aching member. “It won’t suck itself.”

Jeritza let out a low growl. “I don’t take orders from you.”

There was a flash of purple and Hubert fell backwards. He gripped at the jacket of his uniform as Jeritza cast a cloud of dark magic into his core. The mage’s mind raced as he looked up at the other man, confusion entering him with every pulse of the spell penetrating into his body. All along...Jeritza knew how to use Death?

But though Hubert felt his body weakening, his desire for the man killing him grew. He watched Jeritza’s long fingers curl to beckon the life force out of him, seemingly with little effort. Witnessing dark magic being performed with such skill...it was captivating.

As soon as it had begun, it was over. Hubert gasped as the life returned to his body, shuddering with the sensation. Before the dizziness could leave his mind, Jeritza pulled him to his feet.

“Undress...” he said slowly, his blue eyes fixed hungrily on Hubert. “Reveal all your bare flesh to me.”

Hubert found himself taking off his clothes. Jeritza’s ravenous stare as his body was exposed made his cock ache unbearably.

In the very rare occasions when he had tempted someone into his bed, they had carried out their acts in darkness—his deathly pale, thin body had been too unsettling for them to view even by candlelight.

Yet, Jeritza looked at his body as if it were a feast.

“Kneel,” the general commanded him. Hubert did as he was asked. The pain of his bony knees against the stone floor was erased as soon as the other man brought out his cock, making him numb to all but his desire.

Jeritza brought his hand down to Hubert’s face, rubbing his bottom lip with his calloused thumb. “It saddened me that you refused the dessert I brought for you.” Hubert made a noise as von Hrym forcibly opened his jaw and plunged his cock into his mouth. “But soon, you will crave my taste above all others.”

Jeritza began thrusting into him, yanking Hubert forward by his hair. The mage gagged as the erection hit him in the back of the throat, but he tightened his lips around it even as his eyes watered. He gripped the back of Jeritza’s muscular thighs for leverage, sucking and moving his tongue as von Hrym pumped into him.

Hubert looked up through his fringe as he did so, a wave of satisfaction coming over him as he watched Jeritza’s face melt as he lost himself in his pleasure. He might be on his knees with the general’s cock down his throat, but it was he who was still in control.

As he continued to blow Jeritza, he reached down to address his own arousal driving him mad between his legs. As he began to stroke himself, Jeritza’s eyes snapped open. The stronger man grabbed his arms and forced him to stand. Hubert’s head spun at the sudden change of position.

Jeritza pushed him up against the bed. “Your only pleasure,” he murmured, Hubert shuddering as his deep voice burrowed into his ear, “Will come when I bury my cock into you like a blade.”

Hubert breathed heavily as his face was shoved into the mattress, lust gripping him as strongly as Jeritza’s hand against his head. He moved his hips, desperately trying to rut against the bed—but the general would not permit it.

He felt Jeritza’s other arm move to the bedside table. He heard a clinking of glass. As his arm returned to center, Hubert let out a gasp as Jeritza brought his finger to his entrance. He swirled around it a moment, the substance covering his finger cool against his flesh. The nutty scent that Hubert detected made him deduce that it was oil—likely the same kind von Hrym used to clean his blades.

Hubert steeled himself as he felt Jeritza position his cock. The sensation of the tip rubbing against his entrance made him whine deep in his chest. Then—like he had seen him do to others on the battlefield hundreds of times before—the general stabbed into him without mercy.

Adrenaline fogged his mind as Jeritza pierced deep into him, each movement of his hips more powerful than the last. Hubert buried his face deeper into the mattress as pleasure ran through his entire body.

He became aware of someone mewling desperately with each thrust—then felt a wave of self-revulsion when he realized the sound was coming from his own throat.

How pathetic he was. He was Hubert von Vestra—minister to the emperor, a weapon in service of the Empire ever merciless and unyielding.

And yet, here he was, brought to submission by Jeritza von Hrym—knowing nothing else and wanting nothing more than to be fucked.

Jeritza increased the rhythm of his hips, penetrating into Hubert deeper still. Hubert bit at the blankets pressed against his face, attempting but failing to muffle his moans.

The pressure built inside him more, and more, and _more_.

An immense pleasure coursed through Hubert as he came. The mage cried out as his cock twitched, spilling burst after burst of cum onto the bed.

He felt like a sack of jelly as Jeritza continued fucking him. Then, the other man suddenly pulled out. Hubert slid to the floor and leaned against the bed, legs still shaking in the aftermath of his orgasm.

Jeritza loomed over him, cock in hand. Hubert barely flinched as the man came, marking his face with his hot seed.

After what seemed like an eternity, clarity reentered Hubert’s brain. If anyone were to walk in on them now, he wondered how ridiculous it would look. The Minister of Imperial Household, naked and limp on the cellar floor, unconcerned by the cum dripping down his hair and face and neck.

General Jeritza, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected as he tucked his cock back into his trousers. His hair had come a bit loose from its tie, but he remedied that in an instant.

“That was...” Hubert cleared his throat as he heard himself, the words slurring out of him like he was drunk. His mind was still half-hazy with pleasure but he tried again. “That was more pleasant than I anticipated.” He slowly rose, reaching for his cloak and wrapping it around him as he suddenly became aware of how utterly bare he was.

He inhaled shakily as Jeritza stepped towards him, taking his face in his hands with surprising softness. Jeritza leaned down, pressing his mouth against Hubert’s. The mage’s lips parted as he returned the kiss.

Much sooner than he wanted, von Hrym pulled away.

“I’ve had my fill,” he said, his blue eyes unreadable. “Now leave me.”

“...Very well.”

Hubert quickly wiped off his face and fumbled on what clothes he could. He hardly looked presentable, but it would have to do. As he headed to the door, Jeritza spoke again.

“Tomorrow, when darkness falls and the twelfth bell chimes, I will be here,” he said, his deep voice carrying through the room and hitting the mage in the chest. “Do not keep me waiting for what I crave.”

Hubert felt Jeritza’s gaze penetrating into him like a dagger. He nodded. “Until then.”

He fastened his cloak around his neck and headed out into the hall. The cold scent of the cellar was a sobering contrast to the thick miasma of sweat and lust that had collected in Jeritza’s room.

As he returned to the main floor of the palace, he looked out the window to the horizon. In a few hours, the sun would rise, bringing the light of day to Enbarr. If only, he wished for a fleeting moment, the day would never come. That all his remaining hours could be spent in the darkness—consumed by the night—until death came to claim his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> As the title may suggest, I wrote this listening to "Love You to Death" by Type O Negative on repeat. The lyrics may not be a 100% perfect match for this fic, but the aesthetic is just *chef's kiss*.


End file.
